


take my hand (i'll lead you to salvation)

by LegitFairy



Category: X-Men - All Media Types, 逆転裁判 | Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: Alternate Universe - X-Men Fusion, M/M, a lot of it, hand holding, idk what else to tag, one episode of Manfred von Karma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 05:20:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19846414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LegitFairy/pseuds/LegitFairy
Summary: Edgeworth is a mutant who can feel others' memories/feelings if they touch him, but his touch is also deadly (or at least that's what von Karma told him)





	take my hand (i'll lead you to salvation)

**Author's Note:**

> It's an AU we created with my friend. She is an amazing artist and drew a scene from it, but it contains [some spoilers for the fic](https://twitter.com/pherredraws/status/1145023075328679936), so be careful!
> 
> Anya! I know it does not count as a present since you beta'd this text and helped with every step, but I wrote it for you and now just want to say how much you mean to me. It's been four years since we first started talking and since the beginning it felt like I knew you already, because of how comfortable it felt to talk to you. Thank you so much for all the time we spent together, either on- or offline, for your constant warm presence in my life. Take care, little My, looking forward to hug the hell out of you in August!

***  
Two kids lay on the floor in the living room, textbooks and workbooks spread out between them. They initially invited Larry along, but he passed on the opportunity since the two said they are going to Phoenix' place to study for tomorrow’s test. Their talks are accompanied by rattling of the rain against the window growing louder and more persistent. Suddenly the light bulb blinks on and off and then dies, leaving the room to be lit by the dim light of the clouded sky.  
“What’s happening?” cries Phoenix, his voice slightly shaking.  
“I think the powerline went off,” explains Miles.  
He sees his friend looking outside of the window, fidgeting. The rain seemed to turn into a wall of water. A thunderbolt tears the sky in pieces as heavy thunder answers in mere seconds. Phoenix visibly shivers, unable to turn his eyes away.  
“Are you…” Miles tries to ask carefully, “afraid of the thunder?”  
“I’m not afraid!” snaps Phoenix. “I just… I just don’t like it. And i’m worried about Mom...”  
Phoenix’s mom usually comes home on a bus after working long hours at the shop. She is a kind, but tired woman, that kind of tired that people get from raising a child they love, absolutely alone, while earning a living. Phoenix does not understand this properly of course, but can’t help noticing little things that give away how exhausted she actually is. Hence this worry about a person who is supposed to be your guardian and under no circumstances will burden you with their problems. Miles is familiar with this kind of feeling.  
He takes Phoenix by the hand and tries to project warmth and reassurance into the touch. The rain is going to end sooner or later, and the Sun will shine again. That’s what Dad always says. Phoenix relaxes a little bit and adjusts his hand so that he is also holding Miles'. They return to their homework, working their way through the tough fourth grade math problems using one hand each. Sometimes, when the thunder is particularly loud, Phoenix squeezes Miles’ hand, unsure if it is to calm down his friend or calm down himself. They sit like that until mrs Wright comes home.

***  
In a too-bright light of a court hallway Miles stops in front of the mirror to pick out stray confetti from his hair and lets himself have a moment. In the mirror, a pale face answers his gaze. The nightmares have returned (as if they have ever left for long) and he feels the heavy weight of the bags under his eyes. Even if the nightmares let him go for one night, dark circles wouldn’t disappear with the four hours of sleep he manages to rip out of his work schedule.  
His mentor will be furious. Miles lost his composure halfway through the first day of the trial, he LOST to that ridiculous amateur, and it was his fault. It was him who allowed Wright one last chance to defend himself, and it was his perfect record that now had to bear the mark of it.  
Who does that man think he is anyway? The fact that they knew each other back when they were kids does not mean that he can walk back into his life when Miles nearly forgot who he was and talk about how Miles have changed.  
“Edgeworth!”  
Speak of the devil.  
Wright rushes to him through the corridor. Feeling immensely tired of talking to anyone today, Edgeworth turns to head out of the building, but the defense attorney, as if in slow motion, grabs him by the wrist with a “Wait!”. There is a small spot of bare skin between the glove and the magenta coat, and Miles is not sure whether Wright touched it or not, but he is terrified nonetheless.  
He flinches back, instantly covering the skin and adjusting the glove. He thought he almost forgot about Wright, but suddenly he feels it - feels it all. How all the years he had this thought at the back of his mind about a friend he lost, a friend he's been hopeless to find, a friend he longed for. He feels a sharp pain of betrayal, feels hopeful and then feels his hopes crushed by reality. He is not sure from where the last one came from, but this is probably a response from losing his first ever trial.  
He wants to talk, to run away, to cry this instant, but he fights back. He nearly killed a man, he’s on the verge of tears because of the unwanted memories, and of course Wright has not the faintest idea what he has done right now.  
"Do not ever touch me again, Wright", Miles says, not caring how menacing his words come out, "You touch me one more time and you are dead, understand?"  
He walks out without getting a response. He doesn't need one. He doesn't need Wright in his life, not ever.

***  
This nightmare is not his usual one, but it is also a distant memory, brought up by his subconsciousness to torment him. He runs down the long hallway to catch up with a figure in front of him and the door opens to a spacious study with an already lit fireplace. However, in his dream it is freezing anyway, as he begs, realising full well how childish his claim sounds: “Please, give it back!”  
“I am helping you, you ungrateful child,” von Karma snaps back.  
The object in question is the enelope von Karma holds in his fingers. Miles found it in the mail today, and only could read his name written on it before a hand snatched it from him.  
“But it is addressed to me!” he makes the last attempt to save the letter. He does not even know from whom it is, but he knows that it is important, that it is for him. Someone remembers him.  
Mr von Karma stops mid-movement and turns to him to asks calmly:  
“Do you question my judgement, boy?” - and oh, he never shouts, but by the overtones of the voice that Miles now knows too well, by the clinging of metal in it, by the intensity in the fingers that hold the envelope he knows he went too far, and there’ll be consequences.  
“No, mr. von Karma.”  
“Who is it from?” Miles silently hoped that the letter was from Phoenix, but now he prays that it was anybody else, for he knows that he will never read what is inside this envelope.  
“I don’t know.”  
“Who did you wish it to be from?”  
“A friend,” he says quietly after a pause, trying to persuade his voice not to quiver.  
“A friend, huh?” in his voice Miles hears an amusement he came to fear more than the steel. “I suppose, this friend knew you before the incident?” Miles just nods.  
“What would you do, if he decided to hug you? How you would explain what did you turn into? A monster.” With a sharp movement he throws the letter into the fireplace and it takes all the restraint from Miles not to jump after it.  
“I am merely saving you time. And disappointment,” says von Karma, watching the flame cautiously lick the envelope. “Dedicate your time to studying. Dismissed.”  
Miles knows that his mentor is right - he is always right, and in this case in particular. Miles is a mutant, a monster, and with his powers he could kill anyone who got too close. With a nod he marches out of the room.  
The letter is burning in the fireplace as do the suppressed cries in his throat.

***  
On a recess in a defendant’s lobby Miles takes a deep breath and tries not to panic. From the moment DL-6 became involved he knew that von Karma will not hesitate to bring up his mutation, and still he hoped for some kind of a miracle. Not a flash of sympathy, but, perhaps, some selfish motive for his mentor not to say what he said right now, what caused this brief recess in the middle of the trial and what Wright is going to bother him about.  
But instead of asking infinite amount of questions the defense attorney just stands still, muttering to himself “something is not right”, his eyebrows furrowed. Finally, he breaks the heavy silence.  
“Take my hand,” he says, “No glove.”  
“Wright, are you out of your mind?” Maybe he is not qualified enough, despite the last days proving otherwise. “Haven’t you been paying attention to what he said?”  
“I sure have,” says Wright with badly hidden annoyance.  
“And you’re still asking me this?” This conversation feels like being hit in a head with something heavy. Miles wonders how can Wright do that – offer his life as a sacrifice like that without so much as a tremble in his voice?  
“Yes.”  
Miles snaps:  
“I'm not going to be the cause of your death, Wright!”  
“You might as well be already!” the attorney retaliates. “I’m trying to save you,” he adds quieter, somewhat gentle. “Is that so much to ask?”  
It is, any five year old would understand that, but apparently Phoenix Wright needs some more explanation. It pains Miles to say it out loud, but he got used to the pain he deserved.  
“I’m going to kill you, Wright”, he says slowly. “This thing – my mutation – it’s going to kill you. I can’t let that happen.”  
“I'll make Maya channel me and defend you from the grave, okay?”  
“But that way you will have no arguments to win the case”, Miles argues, unwillingly slipping into their usual banter.  
“I have one. You didn't do it.”  
“We both know it doesn't work that way!”  
“Edgeworth...” Wright pinches the bridge of his nose and, looking intently in his eyes, offers him an open hand. “Just take my hand, will you?”  
Miles looks at the outstretched hand, then at Phoenix, and then with a deep sigh he removes the glove from his right hand. Of course, the Truth is worth knowing, but the cost of it now seems too high – unnecessarily so. And for some incomprehensible reason Wright is willing to pay it. Miles knows he’s not worth it, but Phoenix’s certainty is what Miles so desperately wants to hold on to.  
He takes Wright’s arm in a handshake. Hesitatingly he envelops the other hand with his long pale fingers and feels a slight squeeze in return. At any moment he is ready to catch a falling body, but half a minute is gone already and Phoenix is still standing there, smiling more and more widely with every passing second.  
It is relief that Miles feels, relief and the unmistakable joy of being right. He thinks that he was, indeed, right to trust in Phoenix, to choose his words instead of the spider web of lies. The feelings overflow him and it’s all too much, too much for him alone. He’s been touching the other person for longer that he touched anyone in years and he abruptly drops the hand and lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He also sees that a similar breath escapes from Phoenix's lips.  
“You didn't know, for certain,” Miles suddenly realises. “You were unsure of the outcome and still risked…”  
“I knew this bastard was hiding something,” Phoenix shoots back. “And I was right. You’re not a murderer.”  
Miles' mind flashes back to a moment ago, to the feeling of being right. Was it he who was right to trust Wright, or it was Wright’s feeling of getting closer to the truth?  
He puts back his glove, thinking of what this new truth means for him, for his nightmares, the present case, and for a moment – about how warm Phoenix’s hand is. By the time that black leather completely covers his skin, in front of Wright is the familiar Edgeworth – familiar and, somehow, irreparably different.

***  
Edgeworth leaves the Gatewater hotel weary, but with something warm sparkling softly inside him, and he is trying not to spill it into the damp air outside.  
“Wait!”  
He thinks he had seen this scene already, but this time he is not trying to run away. He turns to face the voice with a “Yes, Wright?”  
“I am… sorry,” the lawyer in blue says, catching his breath after running. “What I said to you earlier, about you keeping the perfect score and...” Phoenix gestures vaguely in the air, not sure himself what he means. “I guess it was just… easier. To hate you was easier than living with...”  
“We have talked about this,” Miles interrupts, not ready to hear how Phoenix is going to end that phrase. “You were right, in a way. To hate the man I was and what I’ve done.” He considers where to take the conversation, looking at a few drops of the starting rain on the ground. “I… would love for us to start over,” “to be friends again” is left unspoken.  
“I’d love that too,” Phoenix says with the same expression that people have when they carry a precious object, fear of breaking it evident on their face. And with the face of a person throwing said object in the air he asks “Can I hug you?”  
“No,” part of Miles wants to say, the part that was in charge for all those years, keeping him distant and cold and people around him - safe (or that was what he was told).  
“Yes,” the other part wants to say, the part that has been starving for connection and human touch, the part that wondered - is Phoenix’s hand still as warm as it was when they held hands in the defendant lobby.  
He could, potentially, adjust the scarf so there will be no bare skin, he could, potentially, let himself hug Wright, potentially he could… Will he? But now, when Miles is not afraid of his mutation anymore, he is still afraid to break something fragile blooming between them. “Some other time,” he says instead.  
“Worth a shot,” Wright reacts, seemingly undisturbed by Edgeworth’s rejection. He stretches out his hand, and Miles shakes it firmly, with a small smile. For him it is a promise that there will be indeed some other time, when he won’t be afraid.

***  
Edgeworth is sitting in the warm light of the hotel suite and listens to the voices in the next room. Wright’s lullaby to Trucy mixes with the murmurs of Lisbon traffic outside the windows. He’s nearly sliding into slumber when Phoenix comes into the room, discreetly closing the door to Trucy’s room.  
The former lawyer looks awfully out of place here, and, worst of all, he seems like he knows it. His clothes clash with the simple, but elegant design of the room, and the tired look on his face clashes with the warm light washing over it. Miles swears to do everything in his power to change that, but for now...  
“I wanted to talk to you,” Miles says, and as Wright falls on the couch beside him, he explains his plan. To build a school for mutant children, where they would be safe from the world: from parents that abuse them, peers that bully them, from adults who want to exploit them. To build a place where children like Trucy can grow up having a normal childhood - one he was deprived of.  
“That sounds wonderful, Miles,” Phoenix wants to say something else, but Miles continues:  
“... and I need your help with it”.  
“Who, me?”  
Miles nods. He needs a person to look after the school, because with his career in Europe he can’t be there to look after the school everyday. He needs someone he can rely on there.  
“I’m sorry, but you’re clearly making a wrong choice here. I mean,” and he gestures up and down to demonstrate his scruffy appearance. “Look at me. You need someone confident, someone who could be a good influence on them. I’m a failure. A disgraced attorney. A “forger”. What can I offer them beside my bitterness and disappointment? And I think Kristoph… but that’s a whole another deal.”  
Phoenix tries to seem calm, as if presenting facts he got over some time ago, but his voice betrays him and the words come out twisted, full of sorrow and self-hatred and he sounds so, so tired. Miles cannot handle this attitude, he has to do something. A moment of hesitation, and then he takes off his gloves. He learned this while traveling in Europe, meeting people with similar mutations, exploring his own abilities.  
“Could I show you?” he says and waits as Phoenix slides his arms into his with suspicion. Miles is careful, but he still catches a glimpse of Phoenix’ emotions before putting up some sort of a barrier: it’s dark, heavy and grim, and right now it drowns out all his other emotions.  
Their hands are now a place where two streams meet, and Miles forces via the wires of his nerves (or whatever his mutation uses to do its thing) every ounce of respect and friendly admiration towards Phoenix.  
“Wright, you are… the most amazing person I know. Those words you said hurt you, because you believe that they were once true, but not anymore. I don’t think so. You are not the person you used to be: not reckless and naive. But you are still kind and just to the people who deserve it.” God knows, he tried to hold himself back, but the emotions he sends out are not just of friendship now. He strokes Wright’s hand with his thumb gently, as he continues speaking. “Tell me that you won’t help children who are lost, unsure how to live with themselves and their abilities. Because that’s what you do all the time. You saw a girl in need and rescued her, and you saved me. You are and will always be the right person.”  
He takes his eyes away from their intertwined hands and notices that Phoenix has been crying silently for ...God knows how long, unable to wipe the tears away. Miles carefully releases one hand and, with a certainty he got out of nowhere, brushes his thumb over the other man’s wet cheekbone.  
The movement is unprompted, almost instinctive, and it seems that in the same manner Wright steadies the hand caressing his cheek with his and plants a kiss in Miles’ open palm. The barrier breaks.  
Out of the darkness something buried rises: tainted, broken, but hopeful, of light and warmth that Miles feels being returned to him tenfold. They kiss, and in a mixture of emotion Miles detects fear - that it is a dream, that it is not gonna last, Phoenix thinks that he might have ruined something, the spell is about to break and Edgeworth will leave him as he was before.  
“Never,” Miles says, interrupting their kiss. “Never.”

_For the wretched of the earth_  
_There is a flame that never dies._  
_Even the darkest night will end_  
_And the sun will rise..._


End file.
